


Ballet

by kathkin



Series: Summerpornathon 2014 [5]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Community: summerpornathon, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 11:52:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2268684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathkin/pseuds/kathkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Morgana is a ballet dancer and Gwen doesn't know how to dance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ballet

**Author's Note:**

> For Challenge 3 at [summerpornathon](http://summerpornathon.livejournal.com): Careers.

Friday night; Gwen kept getting dragged to clubs, even though she couldn’t stand them. She let herself get talked into it, then, just like every other Friday, she sat nursing a drink all night while her friends danced to the shitty music and enjoyed themselves.

She sipped her beer. The bottle was empty. She thunked it down on the table with a sigh, and contemplated braving the queue to get another one. She didn’t want to lose her table.

There was a lull in the music, and while she was relishing the few seconds of quiet a voice said, “drinking alone?”

It was a woman with long dark hair and sharp features – a completely flipping gorgeous woman with dark hair and sharp features. She was standing by Gwen’s table, one eyebrow raised. And what the fuck, this wasn’t even a gay club. “Um, no. I’m with my friends, but they’re on the dance floor.”

The woman shifted her stance. “You not dancing?”

“No, I don’t dance,” said Gwen. “I can’t dance. I, um –” The woman was offering her a hand, like they were at a fancy ball and she was a lord asking a lady to dance. Gwen led herself be led out onto the dance floor, feeling slightly dazed.

“It’s not difficult.” The woman raised her voice to be heard over the music. “It’s all in the hips.” She demonstrated, waving her hips from side to side, finding the rhythm so easily; and then her hands were on Gwen’s hips, guiding her. “See?” she said when Gwen had it, raising her arms above her head. “You can dance.”

When the song ended, she took Gwen by the arm and led her to the bar, cutting her way easily through the crowd. “I’ll buy you a drink,” she said.

“Thanks,” said Gwen when the woman pressed a bottle into her hand. “So, um. I’m Gwen.”

“Morgana.” The woman took her fancy cocktail from the barman and pressed banknotes into his hand. She leaned over the bar, still with that coy look in her eye.

“So what do you do?” It was a stupid attempt at conversation, but it was all she could come up with.

“Oh,” Morgana sipped her drink, “I’m a dancer.”

“What, professionally?” Morgana nodded. Before Gwen could stop herself, she said, “what, an exotic dancer?” It was supposed to be a joke, but she was crap at that kind of joke. She cringed, all set to apologise profusely, but Morgana was laughing.

“Ballet,” she said, lilting out the vowels.

“Ballet? Seriously? Wow,” said Gwen. “What’s that like?”

Morgana leaned towards her and said, “well, for one thing, I’m very flexible.”

Gwen swallowed.

*

Back in Gwen’s flat, Morgana wasted no time in getting her top off. “I don’t normally do this,” Gwen assured her.

“That’s okay,” said Morgana breezily. While she was helping Gwen off with her top, she realised she hadn’t bothered to tell her friends she was leaving. They’d probably be looking for her – but then Morgana unhooked her bra and pressed her mouth between Gwen’s breasts, and she stopped caring.

She was so muscly, her abs tense and smooth beneath Gwen’s trailing fingers. She lay spread on Gwen’s bed, naked, her hair spilling across the pillows like ink on paper. “Want to see?” Before Gwen could answer, she lifted a leg and pulled it back, back, right up, up until her toes were almost level with her ear. 

“Oh my god,” Gwen squeaked.

Morgana’s pussy was as neat and smooth as the rest of her, shaved and pale, but when Gwen pushed her tongue between the lips it was abruptly hot and wet, enveloping her. She licked, and she licked, because the noises Morgana made were just beautiful, gasps and moans that were like music; she wanted to do this forever.

Morgana came, her thighs trembling, and her fingers were in Gwen’s hair, tugging her up, up. “God, you’re such a mess,” she said, brushing Gwen’s hair off her forehead, a hand on her cheek.

“Yeah,” said Gwen. “Yeah.” Morgana took her hands and held them, squeezing gently.

*

Morgana left before breakfast, but she left her phone number, on a smart business card. Gwen input into her phone while she sat drinking coffee and apologising over and over to her flatmate for abandoning him in the club.

“Gwen, it’s okay,” said Merlin. “It’s not like you left me alone.” He shoved his toast into his mouth and tapped a few keys on his laptop. His eyes widened. “Holy shit,” he said through a mouthful of toast. He swivelled his laptop around. “Is this her?”

All Gwen saw at first was Morgana’s face, taking up half the screen, a black and white photo of her, elegantly tousled hair, come-hither look on her face. “Yeah. Why?” Merlin motioned at the text, and she read it. _Morgana Le Fay_ , she read, _one of Britain’s foremost ballerinas is set to appear in_ – Merlin flicked back to the Google search page. He’d probably been expecting her Facebook, not a page full of news articles.

“Looks like you fucked a celebrity.” He sounded kind of awed. Then he laughed. Gwen buried her face in her hands and groaned, monumentally embarrassed, as if she should have known, somehow – and then, on the kitchen table, her phone thrummed with a text message. _From: Morgana_. “Already?” Merlin sipped his coffee. “Wow, someone’s keen.”

Gwen ignored him and opened the text.


End file.
